," said
Helvetius to his neighbor, "we came here to laugh, but we are travelling
quite another road; however, I must say, nothing could be more ludicrous
than such a caricature, if it were not of a woman." "Proceed, sir," said
Mademoiselle de Camargo to Pont-de-Veyle. "To tell you the truth, madame,
the worst fellow in the company, or rather he who had drank the most,
declared that he was, of all your lovers, the one you most loved. 'The
mere talk of a man who has had too much wine,' said one of us. But our
impertinent emptied his glass, and backed his statement. The discussion
became very lively. We talked, we drank, and we talked. When the last
bottle was empty, and the dispute was likely to end in a duel, and we
talked without knowing, probably, what we said, the most sober of the
company proposed to go and ask you yourself which of your lovers you loved
the most. Is it the Count de Melun? is it the Duke de Richelieu? is it the
Marquis de Croismare? the Baron de Viomesnil? the Viscount de Jumilhac? is
it Monsieur de Beaumont, or Monsieur d'Aubigny? is it a poet? is it a
soldier? is it an abbe?" "Pshaw! pshaw!" said Mademoiselle de Camargo,
smiling; "you had better refer to the _Court Calendar_!" "What we want to
know is not the names of those who have loved you, but, I repeat, the name
of him whom you loved the most." "You are fools," said Mademoiselle de
Camargo, with an air of sadness and a voice that showed emotion; "I will
not answer you. Let us leave our extinct passions in their tombs, in
peace. Why unbury all those charming follies which have had their day?"
"Come," says Grimm to Duclos, "do not let us grow sentimental; that would
be too absurd. Mademoiselle de Camargo," said he, playing with the dogs at
the same time, "which was the epoch of short petticoats? for that is one
of the points of our philosophical dispute."

The aged _danseuse_ did not answer. Taking Pont-de-Veyle by the hand, all
of a sudden, she said in rising: "Monsieur, follow me." He obeyed with
some surprise. She conducted him to her bedchamber; it was like a basket
of odds and ends; it looked like a linendraper's shop in confusion; it was
all disorder; it was quite evident that the dogs were at home there.
Mademoiselle de Camargo went to a little rosewood chest of drawers,
covered with specimens of Saxony porcelain, more or less chipped and
broken. She opened a little ebony box, exposing its contents to the eyes
of Pont-de-Veyle. "Do you see